A NotSoMerry Christmas
by always-a-country-girl
Summary: When Rickiejoleen's uncles, Sam and Dean, come to visit, what is up with Carrie and her claims of seeing an ugly Santa ghost? There's no such thing as a Santa ghost, right? Then why are Sam and Dean acting so nervous?
1. Rickiejoleen Gwendolyn Honey Lucy W

This was a dream I had after I fell asleep watching a football game, and I thought that I could make a story out of it. Obviously, I had to add some things, but I hope you like it. This takes place right after A Very Supernatural Christmas. Enjoy!

"Mom!" I hollered. "Mom, they're here!" I jogged up the stairs up to my three year-old sister Carrie's room and peered in. My mom was on the floor, her head under the bed.

"Come on, sweetie, come out from under the bed, do it for mommy," my mother begged.

"No! Hide and Seek! Play, play!" Carrie shrieked.

"Mom! They're here!" I repeated. My mom ignored me, still trying to coax Carrie out from under the bed. I sighed and left the room. Carrie was the sweetest four year-old you'd ever meet, but today she was insane. Must be sugar or something.

The doorbell rang. "I got it!" I yelled. I flew down the stairs to the front door and flung it open. "Uncle Sam! Uncle Dean!" I said, hugging them both.

"Hi, Rickie," Sam grinned. He had grown at least three inches since we last saw him. Dean was still as short as ever.

"Hi, Rickie. Don't call me uncle; it makes me sound old, or else I'll have to call you by your full name," Dean threatened, but he was smiling. "Remember what I told you the last time we visited?"

"'If you have a nickname, live up to it,'" I quoted.

You see, I have the most unsuitable name. My full name is Rickiejoleen Gwendolyn "Honey" Lucy Winchester. After my dad died a few years ago, my mom took up her maiden name again, and since my middle name is named after my mom, they added her nickname in. Then I had Confirmation at school, so then I had a saint name. My name + (Middle name + Nickname) + Saint name Rickiejoleen Gwendolyn "Honey" Lucy Winchester. My mother reckons it's sweet. I reckon it makes me puke. So I'm Rickie. Not that my mother cares. She still calls me Rickiejoleen.

"And what else?" Dean said, smiling.

"'If someone comes in the house, shoot first, ask questions later,'" I quoted.

"At'a girl," Dean said proudly, ruffling my short blonde hair. "Let's go see your mom."

"So, what do you do for a living?" Dean asked me casually as we walked through the front door.

"She's twelve, Dean!" Sam said, exasperated.

"I go to school. That's it," I said.

"You don't watch T.V? You are a strange little child," Dean said.

I shrugged. "Well, I watch Ghost Busters and stuff like that. I once watched this show called The Most Hideous Monsters. I think you were number one on the list, Dean," I said. Sam and I began to laugh. My mom doesn't have the same humor as her brothers. I think she decided to give that up to me. Not that I mind.

"Ha-ha. Sure it wasn't you?" Dean shot back.

"Positive," I grinned.

"So… Ghostbusters. You believe in that stuff?" Sam asked me.

"Yeah, actually, I do. There are strange accounts…" I began, but my mother choose that time to enter the room.

"Sam! Dean!" she cried. She hugged both of them before turning to me. "Don't tell them about that ghost crap. It's not true, you know."

"It is!" I insisted.

"Ever see one?" she challenged.

"No, but…"

"I have!" Carrie sang. "It was big, uggy ghost. Very uggy."

"Ugly ghost?" Dean asked her.

"Yes, very uggy Santa," Carrie said sincerely.

"Very funny, Carrie," my mom said.

"Ugly Santa? I thought you said you saw a ghost," Sam injected.

"Santa was ghost. Very uggy Santa ghost. Very uggy," Carrie confirmed.

"Boys, I'll show you your guest rooms," my mother interrupted. She stared at me, practically burning a hole in my skull. "This way." As she led Sam and Dean upstairs, I saw Dean glance at Carrie, with a strange look in his eye, that was something like… What, fear? Anxiety? Concern? I wasn't sure.

And what was the deal with this "uggy" Santa? For some reason, I kind of _believed _Carrie. I'm no mind reader, but I'm positive that Carrie wouldn't make something up like this. Maybe I could check it out on the computer later. With only six days till Christmas, I might have to, anyway. I still have to check if anyone is responding to my Christmas emails.

With Sam and Dean here, who knows what will happen next?

Hope you all like it! I know this chapter's kinda bad, but the next one will be better! Promise!

_**PLEASE REVIEW! I**__** NEED REVIEWS!**_


	2. Spoke like a true Winchester

I stared at the Google screen. I'll admit it; I feel kinda stupid right now, attempting to search on something that probably wasn't true. But my gut was telling me something, and it wasn't the tofu dinner my mom made.

I didn't know what to type. I hesitated, and then typed in Ugly Santa. Nothing good came up. I added the word ghost in the search box, then hit the enter key. Nope. I added in Clause. Nada. I added in Horrible. Zip. I leaned back into the leather computer chair, close to exasperation. Then a thought occurred to me. I took out Ugly and Horrible and placed Evil in the front.

Bingo. I clicked on the first result that showed, and a long page full of writing came up. I began to read.

_Many know good old golly Santa Clause, but what about the Anti-Clause? Sometimes a pagan god, he may bring just bad luck, or something worse. Real life accounts have reported… _

I yawned as I read. I like seeing Ghostbusters, but not reading about them. It's a lot more interesting when you see it then have someone lecture you about it online. I glanced at the right bottom corner of Sam's laptop, who had allowed me to use his computer whenever I needed. It was 11: 54 PM. Oooh, didn't mean to stay up that late. Oh, well, hopefully, I won't get caught. No sooner had I thought this when a hand clapped on my shoulder.

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," I grumbled. I looked up at the person's face and, seeing who it was, started to scream. It wasn't Mom, Dean, or Sam as I thought. The Evil Santa gave me a sick, wicked grin, only it wasn't really Santa. His hair was a dirty, scraggly white, and his eyes were puke green, matching his moldy, grimy Santa suit. His smile gave his face a distorted look to it, making him look even more sinister. His grin grew wider as he reached into the equally grubby sack strapped to his back and extracted…

I woke up with a start as my head smacked the keyboard. Realizing I fell asleep, I muttered under my breath as I rubbed my forehead. I must have fallen asleep with my knuckles holding up my head with my elbow on the desk, and my elbow must have slipped.

I glanced at the screen. Sam's My Favorites had opened. I moved the mouse to exit out of it, but paused. Countless folders were on My Favorites, and all had the similar thing. Thing is, those 'things' were all supernatural. I scanned through it. Demons, Ghosts, Zombies, Vampires, all of them read different things. I clicked open the Demons folder and clicked a random website. A picture showed up on the screen, a picture of a man with bright yellow eyes giving an evil sneer.

My heart beat faster. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like one thing was going on here, and it was that Sam and Dean had lied, and they were Ghostbusters, or something. I mean, realtors? Yeah, right! All those stories about those crazy people who wanted their houses sold that they told us had been a lie. And they had kept this secret of their work from _us_. Their own family.

"Rickie?"

I shrieked and spun around. Sam was standing in the doorway, looking tired. I pursed my lips. I was _so_ not talking to him.

"What are you doing? Looking at email?" He walked up to my chair and leaned forward to look at the screen. I leaned back, not bothering to stop him. Sooner or later I would've yelled at them. He froze as he saw the picture on the screen, in which the demon was still showing his evil smile, his bight eyes glowing. His eyes traveled to the My Favorites, which were still open.

"_You told us you were realtors_," I hissed, tears of fury brimming to my eyes.

"I know," he whispered.

"Well, you'd better tell me what the hell is going on here, or else I'll call the police on you," I threatened. To show the truth of these words, I retched the phone from the charger, but secretly knew I wouldn't call the police on them.

"Don't cuss," Sam told me.

"I'm allowed to. I'm twelve."

"You sound just like Dean. You really shouldn't, though."

"Then tell me what's going on!" I said. My voice was visibly rising. "Why didn't you tell us about this? Do you even care about us? Does my mom know?"

"Shhhhh!" Sam said, clapping a hand over my mouth. "I wasn't allowed, yes, and no."

"You owe me more than that!"

"Shhhhh! You don't understand. Those things are dangerous, and we didn't want you to get hurt. Just a week ago we killed some pagan gods who were killing and eating innocent people," Sam said.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I felt a grin spread across my face. "Just a day of work in the lives of a Winchester, huh?"

"Yeah. It's our job to protect people. And even though Dean and I are on vacation, it looks like we have a case right here."

"You mean Carrie and her 'uggy' Santa ghost?" I shrugged. "It's probably nothing."

"Or maybe not." Sam gazed at the screen, absorbing the information that had put me to sleep, then turned to look at me, grinning. "Have you ever seen a ghost live?"

"No."

"Well, not only are you going to see one, you're the one who will have to help lure it to us."

"Yes!" I exclaimed, punching my fist into the air. I then processed the words he had said, and groaned, my hand dropping. "Oh. I have to be bait?" I asked, disappointed.

Sam nodded and began to crack up at the sight of my face.

"This sucks," I grumbled.

Sam faked a long sigh and raked his hand through his hair. "That's okay; you don't have to help us. We can just…"

"No! I want to help, I want to help!" I said quickly.

He grinned and held out his hand. I shook his hand, hoping that I wasn't in agreement to anything, you know, bad.

"You can't tell anyone, not even your mom. And if she wants to know what you're doing, tell her that we wanted you to help us with our work, or something. Just make sure you don't tell her what kind."

"No gloating that ghosts are real?" I asked sadly. Sam shook his head, cracking up again.

"Anything works; just make sure it's believable."

"Got it." I looked up at the ceiling. "I can't believe this. All my life I've been watching shows about those ghosts and vampires and demons and stuff, and it turns out that they were in our family all along." I looked at Sam, who smiled.

"So I guess you know now," a voice said from the doorway. We both turned. Dean was leaning against the doorframe, a slight smile on his face.

"Yeah," I said softly.

"I'm sorry we lied, but we didn't want to risk losing you. You guys are the only family we have left, and we couldn't live with ourselves if you…" Dean trailed off, but then smiled. "Ready to kick some Santa ass?"

"Are you kidding? I've been waiting to do that my entire life!" I exclaimed.

Sam and Dean beamed. "Spoke like a true Winchester," Dean said proudly.

Hope you all like it so far! I can't wait for you guys to read the next one, because we're going to have some guest stars! Sorry it took so long to update, but I've had so much going on, like my bro's gymnastics meet, my volleyball tournaments, tests, ect. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

_**Please,Please, PLEASE Review! They keep me going!**_


	3. Hunting runs through my blood

I know it took me a while to post, but I'm trying to balance my schoolwork, v-ball, and writing as best as I can! Sorry about the long wait, but I hope it was worth it! R and R!

The next morning was slightly tense between Sam, Dean, and I. Not the I'm-so-mad-at-you tense. Just… tense. We had only a few hours to figure out what the thing was, how to kill it, where it would enter the house, when it would enter the house, and then kill it, all right under my mother's nose.

And unexpected guests didn't make it any easier.

"I have wonderful news!" my mother exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Kevin Barry and his wife and kids have decided to visit us for a week or two! Isn't that wonderful?"

I choked on my orange juice. "The Barry's are coming?" I sputtered. "_Here_?" The Barry's have been friends of my dad for years. Don't get me wrong, they're very nice. Joe and John are both about my age; Joe a little younger, John a little older. And then there's their daughter, Emma.

She's not the nicest person in the world on a good day. She's a little snobby, and is the normal, overly fashion-obsessed teenager you'll ever meet. But I have to admit, like a lot of snide people are, she's really pretty. She looks like a teenage Jessica Alba, with a sense of overdone fashion and accessories. All I had to do this morning was throw on a long-sleeved top, jeans, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap. Took me all but two minutes. It takes Emma an hour to get ready. It drives me insane.

"Berries!" Carrie shouted. She threw a handful of cereal at me. I ducked, with a yell of, "Carrie!" She's been a little monster today, unlike her usual sweet self. She kinda looks like one too. Her brown hair was sticking up in every which way, and a something red was all over her face, making her look demonatic.

"Don't throw food, Carrie. Yes, here. And I _don't_ want any pranks while they're here, either," she threatened, pointing her spoon at me.

"Emma started it!" I protested. Dean snickered, but fell silent under my mom's glare.

"I don't care who started it. Just don't retaliate."

"When are they coming?" I asked glumly, stabbing a piece of hard-boiled egg with my fork.

"They said they were ten minutes away when I hung up."

"_Ten__ minutes_?"

Sam, Dean and I jumped out of our chairs and hurtled up toward the stairs. "Get the stuff, I'll get the coats!" I told them as I dashed up the stairs.

As soon as I had thrown them over my shoulder and came down the stairs, Sam and Dean were walking out the door. I caught sight of my mom, who was still sitting at the table, looking shocked and her jaw slacked.

"Sorry, mom! Dean, Sam and I have some things to get in town. See you later!" I shouted as I ran out the door. Sam and Dean were already in the Impala, waiting; Dean, impatiently. I dove into the back of the car, and Dean immediately sped out of the driveway with a squeal of tires, leaving black marks. I looked back at the house and saw my mother standing in the doorway, her mouth still open.

"Well, that was subtle," I remarked sarcastically.

"We'll only be gone for a few hours," Sam commented. "I have a pretty good idea on what it is already, so it won't be as hard as you think."

"Only a few hours?" I groaned.

"It'll be okay, Rickie. If Emma's really that bad, I can teach you how to shoot a shotgun. I might have an extra one I can give you," Dean offered.

I grimaced. "Nah, mom would kill me. But thanks anyway. Where're we goin' go?"

"To that bar we pasted on the way here. Are there any hot babes in this town?"

"Dean!"

"Jeez, just kidding, Sam! Besides, I want to teach the basics of hunting with Rickie, anyway. Keep up the family business!" He grinned.

"But seriously, where are we going?" I asked.

"To an abandoned shooting range. We need to teach you how to hunt. You know, how the shoot guns, how to bow-hunt, how to salt-and-burn, how to throw knives, stuff like that," Dean answered.

"So I'm not bait?" I asked hopefully.

"Well, not anymore," Sam said grimly. "We have someone who's bait already." He looked over his shoulder to give me a pointed look.

It didn't come to me at first, but I gasped as what he said dawned on me. "We're using _Carrie_?" I shrieked.

"It's the only way! It's attached to her; we can't use anyone else," Sam pleaded.

I sighed. "Alright, fine. But how can we get to it if it's attached to Carrie? We just kill it while she's sleeping and hope she doesn't wake up?"

Sam and Dean didn't answer.

"What! You have to be kidding me. We have to find out how to kill it, how it's going to come in, when, _and then _kill it. It's bad enough we have my mom on our case and visitors, but _now _we're going to have to do it in front of Carrie?" This is unbelievable. I demand to speak to my lawyer.

"You want to help or not?" Dean asked curtly.

"Duh! I can't wait to get rid of this jackass. I can probably do this with one hand tied behind my back. I mean, hunting runs through my blood."


	4. You called me bitch

"Does hunting even run through my blood?"

"You just need to practice," Dean instructed.

"Couldn't you go easy on me? Even just a little bit?" I begged, getting off the grassy ground. Dean had so far taught me bow-hunting, how to do the salt-and-burn, how to do an exorcism, how to kill what with what, and now was teaching me the bow staff, to use against regular people in an attack. Sam occasionally asked me questions about what I knew so far from watching Ghost Busters and stuff. All I had to do was learn the bow staff, and I'd be a hunter. This is the only thing I've had trouble with, as Dean has knocked me down to the ground for the twenty-sixth time. I have done well in everything else, but the bow staff…

"If someone attacks you with this, they're not going to go easy on you just because you're a girl, so neither am I," Dean said. He jumped forward and swung at me with the staff. I blocked it and then, seeing an opportunity, hit him on the shoulder.

"Nice, Rickie!" Sam called.

"Thanks," I grunted.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Dean taunted. He aimed for my left side, but I twirled to the right and hit him in the ribs. Before he could react, I hit him in the back of the knee. Then the ribs.

"Oh, you've done it now, bitch," Dean laughed.

"What did you just call me?" I asked.

"You heard me," Dean grinned. "B-I, T-C…"

"Sam! What are you doing?" I gasped.

Dean turned to look at his brother, who was still working on his laptop and was doing nothing. Using this as my advantage, I swung the staff under his legs straight up. He realized too late that I had tricked him. His eyes went wide with pain as he bent over slightly. Grinning, I put a single finger on his forehead and faintly pushed. He fell over. Sam began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Sorry, Dean," I said, laughing. "If you were an attacker, I would have done the same thing to them."

"That… isn't nice," Dean gasped, getting to his feet.

"You called me bitch," I shrugged.

"I was kidding," Dean panted. Then he grinned. "But not bad. You're finally one of us. A hunter."

"Yes!" I exclaimed, punching my fist in the air.

"Alright, Rickie, here's the plan," Sam said.

"Okay," I said. I sat on the ground and put my fingertips together, like Dumbledore in those Harry Potter movies.

"This Anti-Clause can take the shape of anyone, and gives their target certain things each day for a period of time, until Christmas Eve, when then they feed on their prey."

"Gross," I commented. He nodded.

"They usually chose someone innocent and young, because, I assume, they think that they taste sweeter than bad kids. They try to lure them to be bad, though, causing havoc in their home until the night they get eaten. Then the Anti-Clause disappears for exactly a hundred years, and then comes back for another kid."

"How do we kill this, um, Anti-Clause? Salt-and-burn? Or is it a demon? I can do the exorcism if you want," I offered.

"Nah, it's not a demon. It's kinda like a zombie, or something. You have to kill it with a white-hot knife, right in the heart," Sam informed me.

"So smart, our little college boy," Dean said, messing up Sam's hair.

"Shut up." Sam shut the laptop and placed it carefully in his bag. "I have a plan, but it's going to have to be done precisely, and nothing can go wrong. _Nothing._ You guys understand?"

"You got it, Sammy," Dean said. "All we need is a knife, a way to get to Carrie's room, and a fire, and we're done! What could possibly go wrong?"

I know the last two chapters are short, but the next ones will be longer. Promise!

Please, please, PLEASE Review!


	5. Flippin' Terrific

I'm going to have to kill myself.

"Rickiejollen!" Emma squealed as I walked through the door.

"Emma!" I squealed back. We exchanged hugs; I grimaced at Sam behind her back.

You know those chick-flick movies when two characters who completely hate each other hug and act like they're best friends to each other's faces, even though they both know they hate each other's guts? That's Emma's and my friendship. If you could call it that. More like friendshit. All she does is criticize my clothes and annoy me with her 'helpful' fashion hints. Wait for it… wait for it…

"Your outfit is, um…"-Her face scrunched up, making her look like a shrunken potato- "…interesting."

We have liftoff! "Aw, thanks. Only took me two minutes. How long did it take _you_ to get ready this morning?"

Her face went all blotchy, and I smiled with satisfaction. "Not that long," she said snidely. "Unlike you, I wouldn't want to have country folk dirt on my best clothes, would I?"

Bitch. "I suppose so. Oh, wait, I think there is some on them already. Probably from you. Too bad, isn't it?"

Her face went all tight as she said through a gritted-teeth smile, "Yes, it _is _quite unfortunate."

I flashed a large grin at her again, feeling the need to think back on Dean's offer on that shotgun. I'm sure my mom would understand… Or not.

"Well, I'm going to take a nap," Emma announced, stomping towards the stairs.

"At four o'clock in the afternoon?" Is she insane? Did the Mean Queen not get enough beauty sleep? Or does she really hate me that much that she has to go to sleep early to avoid me?

"Unlike you, some of us _civilized _people like to catch up on our sleep. Not that you would know anything about civilized," she said nastily, continuing up the stairs.

"At least I know what it means," I muttered under my breath.

"Just chill, Rickie," Sam said, glowering after Emma. Sam is always kind, but is _reeeeeealy _over-protective. Like, FBI protective. It's kinda scary when he gets mad, but that's just my opinion. Dean chose this moment to come through the door, looking slightly ruffled, probably from me kicking his butt. (Ha-ha.)

"What is it?" Dean asked, seeing my face.



"_Her_," I growled, jerking my head towards the stairs.

"You know, I still have that shotgun, Rickie," Dean coaxed. "Take it or leave it…"

"I'll take it!" I shouted.

"That's more like it!" Dean said, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Can you keep it quiet down there? Unlike you, some of us need peace and quiet to sleep," Emma's snide voice called from one of the upstairs guest bedrooms.

"I'm going to show her what unlike _really_ is," I growled. I began to stomp toward the stairs, but Dean grabbed me by the collar of my shirt.

"No fighting yet, Rickie. Save it for the Anti-Clause," he told me.

"Please? I won't even hurt her. That much."

"Nice try. No."

I sighed and looked upstairs at her door. "If she thinks I'm not going to get back at her, she is sadly mistaken," I snarled. I rounded on Sam and Dean. "You know what she did the last time she was here? She put Nair and red food coloring in my shampoo! And the time before that? She sprinkled itching powder on my clothes! Even my baseball cap!"

"These sound sorta familiar, don't they, Sammy?" Dean grinned. We turned to Sam. I was surprised to see he was staring out into space, looking dumbfounded.

"Ralshala!" Sam sputtered.

"What?" I asked in disbelief, but Sam had already twirled around, dashed up the stairs into his room, and slammed his door shut. I turned to Dean, bewildered. He also looked taken aback. Sam came out a few minutes later, looking panicked.

"What's the matter?" Dean inquired.

"What happened, Sam?" I asked.

"It's not the Anti-Clause!" Sam said, alarmed.

"What?!" I cried. "What do you mean 'Not the Anti-Clause'?!"

"It can't be, I checked for deaths that happened at Christmas, none of them are kids, I called Bobby, it's something different, and now we have to make up a whole new plan in less than three hours!" Sam said, sounding like an overwhelmed student with too much homework.



"Okay, okay, let's just calm down. What do you think it is if it's not the anti-Clause?" Dean asked.

"A Ralshala," Sam said, trying to calm down.

"A Ralshala? Ralshala…Oh, son of a _bitch_!" I moaned. "I hate those freakin' things."

"Okay. Um, what's a Ralshalsa?" Dean asked.

"It's a cousin of the Rakshasa," I moaned. "The same thing, only it's even worse. It gives the kid gifts, mostly food, to make them fatter until they eat them."

Sam added, "…And can make itself look like anyone or anything, preferably a guy between his teens or thirties, or something whimsical, like…"

"An evil Santa Clause?" I shook my head. "You would have thought they would think of something original."

"Maybe it's looking like someone else, who dresses up as Santa for kicks when it goes to see Carrie," Sam suggested.

"Maybe. What did Bobby say?" I asked.

"Uh, that we're morons?"

"Okay. So who do we know who's between those ages?" I asked. Sam thought for a moment and opened his mouth, but got cut off by two boys.

"Hi, Rickie," Joe beamed. He had gotten taller since I had last seen him, and looked older now, much older looking than his eleven years. His dark hair looked like Sam's; long and a deep brown, falling in front of his forehead, which was a departure from what he used to have: a short, army cut. He still had his dark, dark blue eyes that were like his dad's.

"Hi, Joe," I grinned back. "Nice haircut."

"Are you kidding? I haven't got it cut since I-don't-know-when."

"It was a year ago. I vaguely remember you wearing a ski mask and football helmet, refusing to take them off until your hair grew back."

"Oh."

"Hey, Rickie," John added. He also looked like Joe, but had hair that was short and sticking up, like Dean's, and brown eyes, like his mom and sister's. He was tall too, too tall for his age. Wait, how old _was_ he?

"Hi, John. Geez, you've gotten taller," I said.



"Nah, you've just gotten shorter," he smirked.

Hardy-har-har. I'm dying of laughter. Not. It's not fair. He's only two years older and is 5'7; a whole 7 inches taller than my 5 foot nothing.

"Ha-ha-hilarious. How old are you?"

"Fourteen," he said proudly.

Crap. "Wow, fourteen! Those teenage years are great, aren't they, Sam, Dean?" I said loudly, looking at them. The look on Sam's face told me he understood.

"They sure are," Sam agreed, confirming he knew what I meant.

Crap. I can't believe this. The Ralshala has to be, out of all the things it could be, the one person who we'll have trouble explaining to the parents why we stabbed their child with a brass knife. Why couldn't it have been Emma? I'm nearly ready to stab her with a knife, anyway. But _no_, it has to be the one person near my age that makes me look like a friggin' dwarf. Terrific. Flippin' terrific. _And_ we have to make another plan. In less than three hours. I should have recognized it as soon as I heard Carrie's description.

Bobby's right. We _are_ morons.

Hello, everyone! I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, but now that it's summer, I'll have plenty of time to write. I love you all! Please leave a review for me! Thank you!

always-a-country-girl


	6. Teenagers

"So where did you all go when you left this morning

"So where did you all go when you left this morning?" my mom asked Sam, Dean, and me. She shoveled a mouthful of chicken into her mouth.

Dinner in the Winchester household is never the Hallmark movie-type sort of dinner. It is either one or two of many descriptions: calm, tense, messy, clean, quiet, loud, or a full-fledged war. Tonight, with 10 people at the table, it was messy, loud and a full-on smack down between Emma and I.

"Yes, do tell, Rickiejoleen," Emma piped in. She brought her tiny forkful of potatoes to her mouth and ate it daintily, smirking. If there was anything she loved (that was, if she could love), it was getting others in trouble and listening in on their punishments. She was good at it, too. When she put itching powder in my clothes and I told my mom, my mom only yelled at me, saying that just because I was jealous of Emma (ouch) didn't mean I could blame everything I did on her, and that I probably being careless and walked into poison ivy.

"It's _Rickie_," I snapped. "And we just needed to hang out for a few hours. I haven't been able to see Sam and Dean in forever and just needed some quality time with them."

"So what did you get? You said you were going to town to get some things," my mother continued.

"Uhhhhhh…"

"Christmas shopping," Sam chimed in.

"Yeah, Christmas shopping!" I confirmed.

"Oh. But where are your shopping bags?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Did you really think we'd bring them in the house for you to see where we stashed them? We know how to sneak things in the house, Mom," I told her, praying she wouldn't ask any more questions. She was a real stickler for detail, and could remember something you said from _months_ ago. Slip up on one detail, and she'll have you caught red-handed right in the middle of your lie faster than a policeman can snap handcuffs on your wrists.

"Alright. Are you okay, sweetie? You seem sort of… jumpy. Ever since you came home, you look like you think someone is going to attack you. Did something happen?"

If only she knew the truth to her words

"You do seem worried," Kendra Barry told me. She lifted her wine glass, took a sip, swallowed, and continued, "You should try yoga to calm your nerves. Pilates works wonders, too. I've lost 10 pounds in less than a month, and I can sleep so much better now."

I bit my tongue to refrain myself from saying something I shouldn't. If anything, she lost the 10 pounds by eating nothing. Even now, she hasn't eaten anything on her plate. I probably have more calories in a day than she does in a week.

"Nah, I'm fine. Must be winter fever," I lied. I took a bite of my mom's casserole and gagged; luckily my mom didn't notice.

"It's _spring_ fever, stupid," Emma said prissily.

"You can say winter fever. It's like the same thing," Joe argued.

"No, it's not! It's totally different!"

"Guys…" my mom said, trying to intervene.

"No, it's not! It's the same thing, only in a different season!" John disagreed.

"Just because Rickiejoleen doesn't have a brain doesn't mean you should act like you don't have one," Emma snapped.

"I'm sorry; I can't understand you, I don't speak moron," I snarled.

"Girls…" Emma's mother interrupted.

"Are you calling me a moron?"

"Maybe I am!"

"Girls!" our mothers shouted.

"She started it!" Emma yelled.

"And I'm ending it," I snapped.

"_Girls_!" our mothers shouted again. Kendra turned to her husband, whose face was a bright red. He looked ready to explode.

"Can you help us out here?" she asked him, seeming annoyed at his lack of help.

"No, are you kidding? Don't make them stop. It's so funny to watch," he said, and began chortling. I realized that he was trying not to laugh the entire time.

"Will you act normal?" Emma snapped.

"There is no such thing as normal. When you think about it, no one is normal. Everyone is different in their own way," Joe claimed.

"Hey, guess what? _I don't care_," Emma said.

"_Hey_ is for horses," I smirked. "Like you."

"Ni-ice," Joe said, giving me a high five.

"You guys are such _freaks_!" Emma yelled. She pushed her chair back, stood up and, after glowering at me, stalked out of the dining room. A few seconds later, there was a loud bang of the guest bedroom door slamming shut.

"I'm sorry about that," Mr. Barry apologized. "Emma can be such a _demon_ sometimes."

My eyes snapped up. Was it my imagination or was he looking at Sam and Dean meaningfully?

"Teenagers," Mrs. Barry sighed. She took another swig of wine.


	7. The Game Plan

"Rickie, can you take out the trash for me, please?" my mother hollered from the kitchen.

"_Mooooom_," I groaned.

"Now?"

I gritted my teeth, stomped over to the trashcan, pulled out the trash bag, and stomped to the back door. If my mom didn't think I was acting like a teenager, nothing would.

"Thank you Rickie," my mom called as I slid the glass door open.

"Whatever you say, Mom," I said sarcastically. I stepped outside and slammed the door. I couldn't help but grin. I could act when I really wanted to. I dragged the trash bag over to the side of the house and threw it into the trash bin. I turned and looked around.

"Sam! Dean!" I whispered loudly. I turned slowly, looking for any signs of movement, then looked over my shoulder. No one was there. I sighed, and started to trudge back to the house.

"Over here," a voice whispered. I whipped around.

"Sam?" I squinted, trying to see in the darkness.

"Over here!" It sounded like Dean this time. I looked around one last time, then hurried over to where the voices were. I was now in what Emma snidely called "The Redneck Backwoods", or the forest of trees that surrounded the entire right side of our house and went on to who knows where. I walked a few steps further, and paused.

"Sam! Dean!"

"Right here!" Sam's head popped out from behind a bush. Dean stepped out from behind a large oak tree, lugging with him a large beige duffle bag.

"What'cha got on the Ralsala?" I whispered.

"We figure our best bet is to get him tonight and jump on him by surprise," Sam said. He knelt on one knee on the ground and rummaged in his knapsack until he pulled out a large scroll. He unrolled it and spread the large white piece of paper on the ground. I sat down beside him on my heels.

"Bobby called back and told us that it can be a regular brass knife, so this makes things much easier for us when we go in; we won't have to worry about burning ourselves."

"Damn," Dean said sadly. "I was looking forward to a bonfire."

"Focus, Dean." Sam snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face several times before pointing to the paper. "This is a layout of the house. Right here"-he pointed-"is Carrie's room.

"Unfortunately, her room is on the second floor, so it makes it harder to cover. But luckily for us, this will also make it harder for the Ralsala. Rickie, you'll be covering John's room. When he comes out, you jump him. Aim for his heart. Whatever you do, don't miss. Because if you do, it'll be pissed. And there's nothing a pissed-off Ralsalsa would like more than an extra snack of the person who pissed them off." He looked up. "Any questions?"

"Where will you guys be?" I asked nervously. This was a _really_ fast transition from bait to the one who would take the Ralsalsa head-on, and I wanted to be sure they'll be able to back me up if I tripped up or make a mistake. I bit my thumbnail.

"Well"-Sam pulled out a Sharpie from his pocket and uncapped it-"The only two ways the Ralsalsa could get in is through the window and, of course, the door. I'll be stationed outside here"-he drew a dot outside the room on the first floor that was directly beneath Carrie's-"to keep him from coming around and entering through the window."

I was tempted to ask him how the Ralsalsa could climb the side of the house to get through the window, but thought better of it and just nodded.

"Dean will be right at the door of Carrie's room"-he drew another dot at the door of Carrie's room-"in case it gets past you."

"I have a question," Dean interrupted. He turned to me. "How'd you know what a Ralsalsa was?"

"I saw this one show with a Rakshasa in it. I looked it up to see if it was an actual legend, and the website had a list of the creatures related to it with its own legend. I read each one," I said proudly.

Dean snorted. "Geek."

"Jerk."

"Nerd."

"Dick."

Dean's mouth dropped open. He was quiet for a moment, probably trying to think of a name. "Dork," he finally managed.

"Moron."

Dean closed his mouth, opened it, and closed it again. "B-b-but… that's not fair," he whined. "There aren't that many synonyms for geek."

"I win," I said, grinning.

"Hey, guys," Sam said abruptly. He looked at me, Dean, the back to me again. "We only have one shot at this before Christmas Eve. If we don't kill this thing tonight, there's nothing that it'll stop at to get Carrie on the last night. It'll take a lot of guts, but we can't take _any _risks." He glanced at each of us again. "Do you understand?"

"You got it, Sam." I started biting my thumbnail again, and rocked back and forth on my heels. I shifted several times before giving up on finding a comfortable position. Sighing, I stood up.

"Sure thing, Sir Samuel Geek-a-lot," Dean said sarcastically.

"Jerk." Sam rolled the paper up and stuffed it in his bag before standing.

"Bitch."

Sam ignored him. "Rickie…" He glanced at Dean. "We know that you must be freaked out right now, but you haven't complained once. We're really proud of you. We wanted to give you something special for Christmas, but we're going to give it to you early." Dean nodded and handed me a small hand wrapped package. I chuckle when I saw what he had used to wrap it.

"Nice wrapping paper," I chortled, taking the package from him.

"Dean!" Sam said, exasperated.

"_Busty Asian Beauties_ was the only magazine I had around! It's not like she's keeping the paper."

"I'm not?" I snapped my fingers like I was disappointed. "Damn it!"

"Just open the damn present," Dean said, rolling his eyes and trying to conceal his grin.

I smirked and peeled the tape off the wrapping before pulling the paper away. A small coin on a cord fell into my open hand.

"It was one of our dad's," Sam said earnestly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's a charm to ward off possession. It's pretty much a necessity for any hunter, beginner or expert. Do you like it?"

"No." I shook my head.

Sam's face fell.

"I love it!" I said, feeling a large grin unfurl on my face as I tied the cord around my neck. The coin was cold against my skin, but I couldn't help feeling elated. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Sam said, smiling.

"It was my idea," Dean boasted.

"It was not!" Sam protested.

"Prove it."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I began to laugh. Sam and Dean joined in, Sam laughing his slight chipmunky chuckle and Dean letting out his loud low-pitched snicker. I could feel myself already missing them. It wasn't like we never see them, but it wasn't like they drop by every Sunday for fried chicken and green beans, either. The job just kept them moving everywhere. But even now, during their vacation, they found some work right here. There could be plenty of work that needed to be taken care of here; maybe they could stay part-time. I opened my mouth to suggest it, but a sudden sound interrupted me.

The sound of a twig snapping.

We all froze; the laughter immediately broke off. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my forehead broke out into a cold sweat. Was it the Ralsalsa? Did it hear everything? Or was it my mom? Did _she_ hear everything? Did she find out about the Ralsalsa and about Sam and Dean's real job?

"Rickie," Dean said in a low voice. "Get down on the ground."

I obeyed and apprehensively laid on my stomach on the wet, cold forest floor. I peered around from my spot on the ground, watching for the slightest bit of movement. Dean pulled out two handguns from the beige duffel bag.

"Who's there?" he shouted, holding the gun out in front of him. He tossed the other to Sam, who caught it easily with one hand and moved swiftly in front of me. I couldn't see around him. Ugh, freakin' giant. I better be that tall when I'm 26.

"Who's there?" Dean shouted again.

"Relax," a voice said calmly. "It's just me." I watched as a figure stepped out from behind a tree, holding out his hands. He stepped into the moonlight, showing his face. I gasped.

_**Cliffhanger! Who is this mysterious figure? Next chapter… Please Review! I might not update unless I get at least one review. Thanks!**_


	8. OUR Fight

Heyyyyyyy, here's an extra long chapter for my readers as a Christmas present! Merry Christmas! Please leave a review as a Christmas present in return!

"Mr. Barry!" Dean quickly hid the gun behind his back. "We were just, uh, talking about, uh, you?" he finished feebly.

"Is that so?" Mr. Barry stepped closer. "And please, call me Kenny."

"Sure, uh, Kenny." Dean nodded rapidly and gave a huge phony smile that faltered several times under Mr. Barry's questioning look before breaking the stare and looking at his feet. It was silent for a few seconds.

"So what were you saying about me?" Mr. Barry asked, looking at Sam expectantly. He took another step closer.

Sam froze. "Uh…"

"Nothing offensive, I hope?" He smiled sincerely.

"No, of course not!" Sam said quickly. He smiled back, obviously trying to think of something to say, but continually smiled until his grin wavered; he looked at Dean for help.

"Well, we just noticed you, uh, like the, um… Chiefs!" Dean exclaimed, pointing at Mr. Barry's red jersey. "The Kansas City Chiefs! They're a, uh, a _really_ great team. We were just talking about the, uh, football season." He said nothing for a moment, then added a late, "Go Chiefs!"

"Uh-huh," Mr. Barry said skeptically. With nothing to say, he glanced around; his eyes fell onto me. I cringed, bracing for the full name to be said.

"Rickiejollen Gwendolyn Honey Lucy Winchester, what are you doing on the ground?" His voice was unusually calm and unquestioning; his eyes were twinkling.

I racked my brains for an excuse. I used the only excuse I've constantly have used my entire life, which had to be…

"I'm just tired," I said, scrambling to my feet. Immediately after saying it I wanted to kick myself. 'I'm just tired'? Brilliant, Rickie. That's a great excuse. He's certainly is going to believe that. I brushed some dirt and pieces of broken leaves from my sweater, unable to think of anything to say.

"So, um…" I looked up at Mr. Barry and cracked a weak grin. "How're them Chiefs?"

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. "I heard you."

"I know, those Chiefs are something, aren't they?" Sam smiled and shot Dean an "Are you serious of all the things to talk about it's the Chiefs" look.

"No," he said. Another step. "I mean about your stakeout."

I bit my bottom lip. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

Another step. "And about the Ralsala."

Crap. How much did he hear? Did he hear everything? I opened my mouth to explain, but couldn't find the words to tell him that his son wasn't really his actual son and that we intended to stab him in the middle of the night, so I kept my mouth shut and looked at my feet.

"My only question is…"-he looked from Sam to Dean and grinned-"when were you planning to include a hunter in your plan that was over the age of ten?"

I stomped my foot. "I'm _not_ ten!" It took me a moment to process what he had _really_ meant and for it to click.

"No_ way_!" I gasped.

"_Yes_ way," Mr. Barry grinned. If he smiled any wider, his face would split in half.

"No," Sam said in a hushed whisper.

"Yes."

"But you can't be! You're just a…a… a dad!" I exclaimed. I tried to imagine him as a hunter but my mind came up completely blank.

Mr. Barry snorted. "Are you kidding? Who do you think taught your dad the ropes?"

"_Huh?_"

"Your dad. He was a hunter, too. Didn't you know that?" he asked, rubbing his short buzz cut.

"No," I said, awed. "I didn't."

"Oh, yeah. Wasn't that bad at it either, but that one succubus just managed to get the best of him, and, well…" his voice trailed off, but he shook himself and continued, "I just thought you could use some help with the Ralsala."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the offer, but we've got this one," Sam said curtly. "We don't need any help."

"Oh, really?" Mr. Barry's eyebrows rose skeptically.

"Really," Sam said rudely. "We're fine, thanks."

"I would feel more… comfortable, if there was a more experienced hunter involved in this," Mr. Barry said.

"We _know_ how to hunt, thank you very much," Sam snapped.

"Rickie doesn't. And you two have been doing this for how long? A year, maybe two?"

"That's none of your business," Sam snarled. "But if you absolutely _have_ to know, we were raised doing this. We _know _what we're doing."

I raised my eyebrows. Sam was always the one who never picked a fight; I thought Dean was the only one who would lose his temper. From the steely glint in Sam's eye and his anger-flushed cheeks, I was obviously wrong.

"Well, Rickie doesn't. Perhaps I can take her place," Mr. Barry suggested.

I gasped. "Out of the question," I said stubbornly.

"But-"

"_Out_ of the question," I repeated.

Mr. Barry shook his head and said, "What is this all about, Rickie? Is this about expectations? Huh? You expect to be one of us in a few hours practice?" He raised his voice. "Do you expect to be your dad? Well you can't be, because he's not here, and you don't know what he would have wanted. But I know he wouldn't have wanted you to risk your life for something as stupid as _expectations_!" He yelled the last word so loudly it echoed through the trees, and then it was silent.

Silent rage coursed through my head as I gaped at him, unable to find the voice to yell back. When I could speak, I took a step forward so we were nose to nose.

"Expectations?" I whispered. "Is that what you think I'm doing this for?"

Mr. Barry didn't answer; he only stared at me.

"I'm doing this because if I don't, my little sister will _die_! Is that what my dad would have wanted?"

"I think he would have wanted me to help," Mr. Barry said in a low voice.

"Well, we don't need it," Sam said angrily. "We can do it on our own."

"Why can't you just let me take Rickie's place?" he snapped.

"Because this is my niece, our family, and I, no, _we_ can't trust you with that."

Mr. Barry opened his mouth, but I cut across him.

"Seriously, Mr. Barry, just _back_ _off_," I snarled. "This is our family, _our_ fight, so just leave and let us do our job."

He stared at me, looking shocked and hurt. Good. I could still feel the anger pounding in my head from his outburst. He didn't move.

"You heard me!" I snarled, pointing to the house. "Leave! Go! Go and sit by the fire and drink your stupid eggnog and sing your stupid carols or whatever you do around the holidays! Just leave!"

Mr. Barry looked at me sadly, sighed, turned, and began walking to the house. After a few feet, he paused.

"I know you're angry with me, but if you ever need me, I'm here to help," he said over his shoulder. Without another word, he left. We watched him disappear into the house.

"Maybe I should apologize," Sam said. He kicked a small rock with the toe of his shoe, looking miserable. "I just kinda… snapped. I didn't mean to…"

"No," I said. "He had no right to say that stuff." I bent down slowly and picked up the small rock that Sam had kicked. I tossed the rock up in the air once before throwing it out into the trees.

"Let's go," I said. I turned toward the house. "We've got work to do."


	9. Emo Delinquent

It was 11:55. I tiptoed quietly through my room, arms stretched out to feel around in dark.

_Pop_. I froze, and slowly bent down and touched what was under my foot.

Bubble wrap. I silently cursed for sending the gifts I'd bought in the noisiest wrapping possible, and began tiptoeing towards the door, feeling the floor out in front of me to avoid stepping on anything else. I stepped out into the hall, and gasped as someone bumped into me. I turned, slammed the person against the wall, and pressed my forearm to their throat, all in one swift motion. I pulled the brass knife from the holster on my hip with my free hand, and brought it up in the air.

"Wait, Rickie, stop, what are you _doing_?" the person cried.

It wasn't the Raksalsa. "Dammit, Joe!" I growled, shoving the knife back into the holster.

"What the heck, Rickie, what are you do-"

I clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shut _up_, there are people sleeping right now, Joe!" I hissed.

He tried to throw my hand of his face. "Are you sneaking out? Why-"

"_Shhhhhhhhhhh_!" I covered his mouth again. "If you want to talk, you'll have to whisper, got it?"

He nodded and pushed my hand away. I took my forearm off his throat. "Why are you dressed like an emo delinquent?" he whispered. "You look like a criminal."

I looked down at myself, and flushed. I _did_ look pretty suspicious in a black turtleneck, black jeans, and black tennis shoes with a black knit cap over my long braid and a holster holding a knife, flashlight, and pepper spray, but there was no way was I going to tell Joe why I was dressed like this.

"First off, I'm not emo. I like the color black. It's very, uh, black."

"Uh-huh," Joe said mildly, in a chipper way meant to be sarcastic.

"And second, I'm, uh, sneaking out to, uh, meet some friends at the, uh, mall, and I really have to get going, so if you can just-"

"Really? Sneaking out? Wow, that'll be fun. Don't you need a car to drive to the nearest mall, which is at least, I don't know, about an hour away and closes way before twelve o'clock in the morning?"

Oops. "Listen, Joe, I don't have time for this; just go back to-"

"No way! What are you doing? You better tell me or I'll, I'll…"

"You'll what?" I took a quick peek at my digital night watch. 12:03. I didn't have any time for this.

"I'll tell John!"

My blood turned cold. I knew Joe, and he _would_ get John, no matter what I said. I had to do something fast. "Please, Joe, don't even _think_ about going near John," I pleaded.

"Try and stop me." Joe turned on his heel and started for the stairs.

I grabbed him from behind. "I'll tell you everything later, I promise," I whispered. I curled my first two fingers and lightly tapped the back of his neck. He dropped without a sound. I dragged him into my room.

"Sorry, Joe," I whispered. It was an old trick my karate instructor taught me; it would knock someone out, but not for long, and I knew he would be pissed when he woke up. I left quickly and took the stairs with as much care as possible to prevent the steps from squeaking. There, once I reached the bottom, was a walkie-talkie, on the small table beside the closet. I snatched it up and crept down the hallway to John's room. I squatted down beside his door and lifted the walkie-talkie to my mouth. "Scully, do you read me? Over." I pressed the gadget to my ear.

"_Yes_," Sam grumbled. "_In position. Over._"

I tried my hardest not to laugh. Dean had insisted that we all have code names for the task we were about to face, but I could never remember which one of them was Simmons or Frehley. Dean had told me to call him Mulder and Sam Scully from the X-Files; he insisted that it would be easiest since Scully started with an _S_, like Sam. Sam tried to protest, but it was too late; I already thought of them with the names easily, and it would have been too hard to change it now to something different. So, with much grumbling, Sam had reluctantly agreed to the name.

I flipped the dial on the walkie-talkie to the second number and lifted it to my mouth again. "Mulder, do you read me? Over." I pressed the walkie-takie to my ear. All I could hear was static.

"Mulder, _do you read me_? Over."

Static.

"Mulder!"

"_Right here. In…sition. Carrie in…asleep. Over._" Dean voice sounded strange and broken up, and the static continued.

"Mulder, what's wrong your walkie-talkie? I can barely hear you," I said. I checked my watch. 12:07.

"_Walk…old. Bet… save batteries. Out._"

I flipped the dial back to the number one, and pressed the walkie-talkie to my mouth. "Scully, Mulder's 'talkie has been turned off. He is not able to contact or be contacted. Understood? Over."

"_Understood. Over_."

"So, uh, what do we do now? Over."

"_We wait. Over._"

I sighed, and leaned against the wall.

It was going to be a long night.


	10. One Chance One Shot

A loud _clunk_ brought me out of my sleepiness. I shook head to bring myself out of my drowsy state, and rubbed my eyes. I suddenly remembered why I was in the hallway in the first place, and sat up to attention. I checked my watch. 12:48.

There was another loud clunk. I got to my feet and pressed my back against the wall. I slowly pulled the walkie-talkie from my belt, pressed the "On" button with my thumb, and cautiously brought the walkie-talkie to my lips, wary of making any sound. "Scully, come in. Raksalsa on the move. In position? Over," I said softly.

"_In position. Over._"

"Get ready. Out." I placed the walkie-talkie on my belt, and slid the knife from its sheath. I gripped the handle the way Sam had shown me, the blade pointing down and the handle of the knife held close to my chest. I waited, breathing shallowly and counting the seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

I had counted up to twenty-three when a small _click_ caused me to stiffen with panic. I held my breath, the knife pressed against my chest, and waited.

The door creaked open. It opened all the way, tapping the wall right next to me, and John stepped out.

I could already feel the rush of terror and adrenaline. I gripped the knife so tightly that my knuckles felt ready to pop off. _Just do it now_ I thought. _Before you lose the rush, and your strength along with it. _I had to fight against the emotional high that was urging me to take the thing head on, and waited.

The Raksalsa stretched, and let out a long yawn. This struck me as slightly odd. The thing was in a strange way humanlike. With as long as it lived and who-knows-how-many kids it gorged itself upon, it must have picked up a few human habits along the way.

_This has to end now_ I thought savagely, curling my fingers on my other hand around the pepper spray. _No more kids should die because of its hunger._

I tensed up as the Raksalsa looked down the other end of the hallway. Without a doubt I knew that in less than a second it would look my way.

One chance. One shot. No opportunity for mistakes. I lifted up the pepper spray as the thing turned, and hit the button.

And the fight was on.


End file.
